


Chemical Reaction

by CMRandles



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Avoidance, Bones has trust issues, M/M, Marooned, Pining, Unrequited Love, but is it really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 17:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15152543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMRandles/pseuds/CMRandles
Summary: McCoy has been pacing. He has not stopped pacing for the last half an hour, walking back and forth in front of the window as though his movement will blow away the storm that has left them stranded. He has not worn a path in the stone floor, but he might as well have. At least then he would feel like he accomplished something.Across the small room, Spock is motionless. He sits on the floor with his legs crossed and his eyes closed, hands propped on his knees. He hasn't so much as twitched in the thirty minutes that McCoy has been in continuous motion. Which is annoying, and that annoyance makes McCoy pace even more, which provokes no reaction from Spock, and that just makes him even more irritable. At this rate he'll be insane by the time they're able to return to the Enterprise.





	Chemical Reaction

**Author's Note:**

> Rated T on account of the swears and someone's dirty imagination - no actual sex (I know, who is this, what have you done with CM).

McCoy has been pacing. He has not stopped pacing for the last half an hour, walking back and forth in front of the window as though his movement will blow away the storm that has left them stranded. He has not worn a path in the stone floor, but he might as well have. At least then he would feel like he accomplished something.

Across the small room, Spock is motionless. He sits on the floor with his legs crossed and his eyes closed, hands propped on his knees. He hasn't so much as twitched in the thirty minutes that McCoy has been in continuous motion. Which is annoying, and that annoyance makes McCoy pace even more, which provokes no reaction from Spock, and that just makes him even more irritable. At this rate he'll be insane by the time they're able to return to the Enterprise.

If they were normal people this would not be such a hardship. McCoy and Spock are stranded in a luxury hotel, after all, or at least what passes for such accomodations on this planet. They were on an away mission, McCoy treating the poisoned politician who was laid up in his five-star hotel room while Spock investigated the circumstances that brought the prominent alien to become so. They had intended to meet briefly in Spock's hotel room to compare notes, but that was when the storm hit. This planet, McCoy had honestly forgotten the name of it, was subject to horrible radioactive electrical storms that rendered them literally powerless. They could not return to the ship, nor could McCoy even return to his room because the path outdoors was too dangerous for a non-native to traverse. Without the thick armor plating that natives were born with, he would be reduced to a scorch mark on the ground in a matter of moments. So, here he was stuck in Spock's unadorned room while the Vulcan sat and *meditated* and the storm raged outside, brilliant in its destruction.

There was a storm inside of him as well.

It seemed almost cosmically unfair that he should be stuck in a 20x20 box with Spock of all people. Why couldn't it have been Scotty, who he could have been getting collosally drunk with? Or Kirk, who he had at least shared a small space with before back in the Academy? Or even Chekov who could regail him with tales of Mother Russia. Not Spock. Anyone, he thought, but Spock.

In addition to being essentially armadillos, the sentient life on this planet also happened to be telepathic. McCoy had not been briefed on this before beaming down to treat the Ambassador and therefore was surprised when one of the "nurses" assigned to help him started giving him a lot of knowing smiles. He had been far too busy to ask what the hell was up with that, so he just chalked it up to a cultural difference and moved on. It was only when she referred to Spock as his "lover" that McCoy's jaw hit the floor.

"You misunderstand," he said, his tone far harsher than needed,"we're shipmates, friends even, not..." he couldn't make himself say the word.

She just looked at him, the corner of her pointy mouth quirked up. "We call it 'yokamashi'. It is..." she thought for a second, "Angry. Passionate. Yes?"

"No," he said, and they let the subject drop.

It was only later that McCoy realized she had plucked this definition direclty out of his own brain. Angry love. Fuck. He'd known for a while that *something* was going on with him where Spock was concerned, but hadn't stopped to examine it very much. After all, the Vulcan was infuriating under the best of circumstances, so it's not as though he needed a reason to be annoyed with him. But even Jim noticed that McCoy had been harsher than usual with the Spock. During one of their drinking-and-conversation interludes, he had broached the subject, asking why McCoy was being so hard on their Commander, and warned him that Spock was a stickler for regulations.

"He'll write you up for insubordination," Kirk said.

"I'd like to see him try," McCoy sneered.

"See, this is what I'm talking about. You're talking like you hate the guy, but I know that isn't true. What's crawled up your ass, Bones?"

"Nothing!" He insisted. Oh how he insisted.

But in the dark secret places of his mind he knew that there was no covering it up. All of this was an act of self-protection designed to keep McCoy from getting hurt or rejected. His defenses were good where this was concerned. All it took was one catastrophic divorce for a man to get jumpy where affairs of the heart were concerned.

Affairs of the heart. With a Vulcan. Laughable. Fucking hilarious, really. McCoy should be laughing himself silly right now, instead of feeling like he might scream or vomit. He could only imagine what Spock would say if he spilled it all out loud right now:

McCoy: I'm in love with you and a little obsessed with you and I want to have sex.  
Spock: Illogical.

It's a non-starter. That's all there is to it. And yet, McCoy's foolish heart persists. His dick is even more stubborn, come to that. It refuses to give up on the fantasy of Spock stripped naked drilling Leonard like it is his job. The five-star alien hotel bed looks up to the task.

Fuck.

Outside the thick window, something flashes purple and all of the hair on McCoy's arms stands up straight. He experiences an electric tremor move through him, terminating directly into his balls. When he turns around, intending to move farther into the room, he finds Spock standing there only a few inches away with his arms folded behind his back. Almost - *almost* - close enough to touch.

"You appear to be agitated, Doctor," he says calmly, giving McCoy the kind of curious, searching look that is achingly familiar.

"Well, yeah," McCoy punts, unable to make his tongue work properly. "I've got a patient out there without his doctor until..." he gestures vaguely at the electrical storm that looks like fireworks and feels like the absolute end of the world.

"The Ambassador was stable when you left him two point four hours ago, do you have reason to believe that his condition has changed?"

Logic. Reasoning. God damn, how McCoy hates them right now.

"No," he grunts reluctantly.

Spock is still too close, and still watching him. McCoy quickly crosses the small room, reaching for the flask of water which is, regrettably, all they have to drink at the moment. He wishes it were whiskey, or even a medical concotion designed to knock him out and spare him this torture.

"Are you well, Doctor?"

"Yes," he says too quickly and too loudly. "Stop harrassing me."

"Harrassment was not my intention. As a fellow officer and friend I am merely demonstrating concern for your wellfare."

Dear God, McCoy doesn't want to read too much into that sentence. And yet - friend. Has Spock ever said that word? Certainly not to him. Maybe to Jim, his bestie, who he has become nauseatingly close to since breaking up with Uhura. Leonard has watched that budding bromance from a distance, barely keeping a dark, furious jealousy at bay the entire time. Jim opens Spock up in a way Leonard would not have considered possible and right now, just for a moment, he wishes for a little bit of Jim's charm, his ease of conversation, his daring. Leonard has no such tools at his disposal, and has never felt their lack so keenly.

He takes a deep breath, and another drink of water, splashing a good portion of it down the front of his uniform. "I'm fine, Spock. It's just the storm, it's got me...loopy," he says, twirling a finger around his head to demonstrate the effect.

Satisfied, Spock nods and turns his body to the window, gazing out at the drug-fueled lazer light show that is this planet's natural state. The crazy colors light up his profile and for a moment McCoy wants him so achingly, horribly, badly that it steals his breath. He wants to do something crazy, *say* something crazy. Instead, he takes another slug of water and goes to sit in the corner of the room like a child being put into time-out. God knows he certainly needs one.

Spock seems content to gaze out at the chaos for an intermitable period of time, while McCoy tries to think of, look at, *do* anything else. Unfortunately, distractions are few and far between here and Spock is by far the most interesting thing in the room with his thousand-yard stare.

Out of nowhere he says, "It is a chemical reaction."

"What is?"

"The storm," he gestures with one long-fingered hand to the giant window. "You referred to it earlier as an 'electrical storm', which is inaccurate. There is electricity involved, however that is not what caused the reaction. Two chemicals, boroxian and x12243, exist naturally in the planet's atmosphere. Ordinarily they exist at different atmospheric levels and therefore do not interact. However, when they do their reaction is so voliatile that it produces these storms, which the natives must take shelter from until they pass."

This is not a metaphor. He's not making a metaphor, Leonard tells himself firmly, forcing his jaw to unclench. "Isn't this usually where you declare the situation to be fascinating?"

Spock turns slightly, just enough that he can turn that shrewd glance on Leonard out of the corner of his eye. He is strikingly beautiful, backlit as he is by the chaos. His hands are clasped, as ever, behind his back, and McCoy reads tension in the lines of his body. He feels it too, the air shifting between them. A chemical reaction.

"Doctor, I have a hypothesis I wish to present for your expert medical opinion."

Though he is taken aback by the abrupt change of subject, McCoy nods. "Color me flattered, Spock. Fire away."

"For some months now I have observed a member of the Enterprise's crew. He is essential to the efficient functioning of the ship, and a competent worker, but his focus has slipped in the past three point two months. His manner has grown agitated and short, his blood pressure and pulse are frequently elevated and his mood alternates between angry and despondent in equal measures. What would your diagnosis be for such a patient?"

"Spock-" McCoy interjects angrily, unable to remain seated. He leaps to his feet faster than he would have thought possible for these aging bones.

Spock raises a hand, interrupting his forthcoming tirade. "My hypothesis, Doctor, is that this individual is...as you say in Terran culture, heartsick. He is experiencing what he believes to be unrequited sexual and romantic attraction to a fellow crew member which has resulted in significant emotional distress."

They are silent for a moment. A green haze has gathered outside the window, the planetary fireworks falling dormant. It reminds Leonard of the air in Georgia just before a tornado touches down.

"What's your evidence?" Leonard manages. He's not a very good actor, and he knows it, but he's trying.

Spock has clearly been anticipating this question and has an articulate, thorough, and concicse answer. He elucidates several occasions during which this mysterious "crew member" interacted with the object of his affection and retreated suddenly in apparent distress. In addition, he cites heresay from other crew members who know this indivudal well and remarked upon depressive behavior that was out of character for the man. Spock talks for probably ten minutes, standing calmly by the window, with his hands folded behind his back, lecturing as though they are both back at the Academy and will be giving a test on the subject later. Leonard tries to listen, he does, but his skin is crawling off and his heart is battering against his ribs like a prisoner.

Spock finishes with a quirked eyebrow, entirely aware that he has lost his audience. "In your medical opinion, does my hypothesis meet the available data, Doctor?"

"In my medical opinion, you're a horse's ass," Leonard says before he can stop himself, and barely resists throwing something. "Why are you doing this? Is the song and dance really neccesary?"

Spock looks confused. "I have not been employing music or movement of any sort."

"It's an expression!" Leonard yells. "God damn it, Spock! Is this torture enjoyable for you?"

"No, Leonard, it is not."

The use of his given name hits him like a slap in the face. For a moment, McCoy feels like he has been hit by a phaser and simply stares as something - something unprecedented - happens to Spock's face. It softens, the skin around his eyes crinkling into devastatingly attractive crows feet. His lips curl just slightly and there is a warmth, a kindness, to his brown eyes that melts the tension coursing through McCoy's body like chocolate in the sun.

"I have no wish to torture you, nor see you in any pain. In fact, my aim is the opposite, to allieviate the mental burden under which you have been suffering these many months. You are in love with me-"

McCoy gasps.

"And you believe your attachment is unrequited. Is that not so?"

Not much point in denying it now. Leonard looks down at the unremarkable stone floor of this room and for one frightening, horrible moment thinks that he might cry. He doesn't say anything, he can't, he couldn't say the words if there was a gun to his head. But he can very slowly nod his head up and down. *Yes*

"Illogical," Spock declares, and McCoy's worst fantasy is coming true all around him. "Highly illogical," he repeats.

Leonard wants to hit him. He wants to run away, even if it means dying in the stupid chemical reaction that's happening outdoors. He wants to do anything but sit here and be mocked for having the audacity - the *gaul* - to spend love nearly three years loving Spock.

"Why did you not simply indicate your interest to me?" Spock says, and he sounds angry.

"Are you joking?" Leonard asks, and actually laughs a little in shock. "I didn't tell you because I knew *this* is what would happen!"

"To what do you refer?"

"This!" McCoy yells, gesturing back and forth between them. "'Illogical'," he parrots in a robotic tone.

 

Spock still has that little line of confusion between his arched eyebrows, which means Leonard has not been getting through to him. Despite his reservations, something tells him not to give up. He needs to get through to Spock, even if it ends in even more catastrophic rejection; even if the whole thing goes up in flames. 

"Look, I don't know what you had with Uhura, and, frankly, it's none of my business. I also don't know what Vulcans have to say about homosexual relationships. Probably illogical because they don't produce children, or some such nonsense. I've had my own rocky relationship with my...attraction to folks, and this *thing* I have for you is no exception. I didn't tell you because I knew that if I did you would...well, I knew that you aren't interested in any guys that way, so why should I be any exception? Just because I have...feelings for you doesn't entitle me to your time or attention." 

"You are incorrect, Leonard." 

When McCoy looks up, Spock is standing way too close. Over the Vulcan's left shoulder a bloom of purple electricity lights up the sky, the biggest one yet. 

"You are laboring under the misapprehension that you know my sexual preferences for a fact, when you are in fact operating with limited data. Basing, I assume, your conclusion on the fact that I was intimate with Lieutenant Uhura. In fact, I have been intimate with males as well, before I joined Starfleet and while working at the Academy. I have a preference for both sexes, and for genders beyond the Terran understanding." 

McCoy is not sure he has ever been so glad to be wrong. He can feel the fragile blossom of hope unfurling in his chest, and he does his best to let it grow unimpeded. 

"As to the matter of whether or not I return your regard and sexual attraction, quite simply put - I do." 

Spock keeps talking after that, but McCoy isn't listening. Some distant part of him is aware that Spock is sharing the story of how he came to realize his attraction to Leonard, but those words are drowned out in the cacophonous celebration happening in the Doctor's mind. A sixteen-piece brass band is blasting "Hail the Conquering Hero" in his cerebellum, and so McCoy doesn't immediately notice that Spock has now stopped talking and is looking at him with soft eyes. 

"You are not listening." 

"No, I'm not. Sorry, it's just...it's a lot to take in." 

"Understandable. You have labored under your false impression of the circumstances for some time." 

"So, now I have to ask you - why didn't *you* say anything, once you figured out why I was wandering around like a kicked dog all the time?" 

"I attempted to on several occasion, but you fled from my presence. It was not until this moment when you were literally trapped in my proximity that I have had the opportunity to clarify my intentions." 

In his mind, Leonard can hear the voice of his Granny chastising him,"Leap to conclusions and you leap to confusions, boy!" No one, it seems, makes these leaps better than he. Part of him wants to feel chagrined, ashamed by his own cowardice, and spiteful about the loss of time they could have had together. But most of him is too fucking excited to care. 

Leonard smiles, surprised by how easy it feels now. Something in his expression makes Spock's pupils dilate; with arousal, he hopes. "What are your intentions, exactly?" 

"I wish to initiate a physically and emotionally intimate relationship with you, Leonard McCoy, if you will have me." 

That does seem pretty exact. Leonard doesn't hesitate, "I absolutely will. Have you, that is." And then he blushes, because this situation wasn't humiliating enough already. 

"I believe the Terran custom is to seal such arrangements with a physical gesture." 

"Like a kiss?" 

"It would be appropriate." 

Leonard grins, and leans in. He does have to lean up as well, just a little bit, but he's not going to think about that now. What he thinks about instead is the feel of Spock's mouth on his, hard and yet tentative, passionate, yet restrained. His arms go around the Vulcan's neck, pulling him in tighter so their hips fit together and he can show Spock the first signal of just how much all of this is getting to him. 

They kiss for what feels like an eternity, and is somehow still not long enough. Then something sizzles outside the window and the hair on the back of McCoy's neck stands up, and they pull apart, looking out at the spectacle. 

"What are the odds of us getting electrocuted if we were to consummate our relationship right here and now?" He asks. 

"I calculate them at 0.4213 percent," Spock replies easily. 

"Seems worth it to me," McCoy says, and gives Spock his best bedroom eyes, arms still wound around his neck. 

"For once, I agree with your assessment, Doctor," Spock says and kisses him. 

McCoy only has to stop once more, and that's to demand that Spock call him anything but 'Doctor' in this situation. After that, there is no more talking, only a chemical reaction happening both outside and inside the room.


End file.
